


Just a kid

by Anonymouscurser



Category: Coco (2017), Coco - Fandom
Genre: For future chapters!!, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Manipulation, Molestation, One-Sided Attraction, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14921958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymouscurser/pseuds/Anonymouscurser
Summary: Based after Héctor and Miguel's argument where Miguel learns that a kind face doesn't always mean kind intentions.





	Just a kid

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING = this contains descriptions of CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE.
> 
>  
> 
> Update:
> 
> Some people have been concerned about my Hector/Miguel tag — asking if it’s a mistake etc! It’s not a mistake! If I continue this story it only gets more messed up and Miguel develops an unhealthy one sided attraction to Hector which Hector then tries to shut down. Thanks :)

If there was one thing Miguel Rivera hated, it was being treated like a child.

His whole life up until this point had consisted of him obeying his family’s rules, keeping in line with what they wanted. Thankfully, Miguel was able to spare precious moments to himself while the adults were preoccupied with looking after Benny and Manny. This was when he got the chance to sneak out to the plaza, devote his time to his idol De la Cruz, or eat as little portion of tamales as he wanted.

But Miguel was going to be thirteen next year, and his family had done nothing but tighten their bonds on his life. How was he supposed to make his own choices if they refused to give him a scrap of independence?

That’s why he wasn’t going home until he’d had a musicians blessing.

Ernesto De la Cruz was his great, great grandfather and it didn’t matter if it took him all night, he wasn’t leaving until he’d seen him. If De la Cruz then told him he should stop pursuing his dream and go home, then he would — it’d break his heart, but he’d do it.

But Héctor? A stranger he’d only just met? Who knew nothing of his passion for music and instead ridiculed him and his hero for it? No. No way.

“Let go!!” He cried out.

“You’ll thank me later” Héctor concluded.

Miguel struggled as the others grip around his arm tightened, he was attempting to return him to his family. A swift tug had his arm free and the skeleton man stumbling forward only to turn and glare at the boy.

“You don’t care about me! You only care about yourself” Miguel yelled back as he burrowed a hand in his hoodie pocket. “Keep your dumb photo! Stay away from me!”

As the picture was discarded Héctor’s face dropped in dismay. He stumbled after it with arms outstretched, desperate to catch it as Miguel turned to leave. Dante was quick to follow the boy as he escaped, whining anxiously in Miguel’s direction as Héctor called out to him.

“Dante stop, he can’t help me!” Miguel ordered after descending a flight of steps.

The Xolo dog now had his teeth sunken deep into the material of his hoodie, tugging and snarling as Miguel pulled back.

“You’re not a spirit guide you’re just a _dumb_ dog!” A finger was pointed accusingly at Dante and he whimpered in response.

The two had the full attention of every skeleton in the area now and Miguel felt a spike of regret pinch his heart as he saw Dante slither away as if he’d been stung. He was tempted to call after him, but he himself was hurt. He was angry, furious even.

As whispering ensued Miguel tugged his hoodie back over his translucent skin.

He had to run, he had to hide! His family wouldn’t be far behind now.

“Niño! Oi!”

Miguel let out a surprised yelp as he turned to see an older skeleton approaching at a brisk pace. On closer inspection he noticed he was wearing similar attire to the residents in Shantytown; they were slightly bedraggled but were clothes nonetheless. It wasn’t an easy task but he assumed the stranger was slightly older than Héctor. A large smile painted his face and Miguel wondered whether he’d just missed the punchline to a good joke.

“Are you new here?”

The question was straightforward.

“I.. uh well.. yeah I am.. sorta?” Miguel mentally slapped himself.

The skeleton laughed which let him know he’d taken his stuttering as a ‘yes’.

“You look like you need an amigo!” He explained further and passed a glance around the crowd.

Miguel nodded bleakly.

The hand on his shoulder came gently and before he was able to properly acknowledge it he was being led away; he allowed it — anything to draw less attention to himself. It was as though the skeleton was reading his mind because the path he seemed to be guiding Miguel toward was void of an audience. A sigh of relief crawled from his lungs.

Once they were both out of ear shot he paused to turn to Miguel.

“I saw you on stage tonight, that was an impressive performance” Miguel couldn’t help the toothy smile that crawled onto his face, the thrill of accomplishing what he did was still fresh in his head. He lifted his chin to glance behind the boy. “But where is that other man?”

Miguel’s smile slipped from his face. “We um, we had a fight…” he muttered grimly.

A look of shock passed over the skeleton’s face before it shifted to something that Miguel could only describe as being sincerely apologetic.

“Héctor wasn’t listening to me and … I decided to leave”

“Ay! Why wouldn’t this ‘Héctor’ listen to you?”

Miguel poised his lips together and considered telling the truth, but he decided against it and went with the latter. The last thing he needed was another person trying to hand him in to his family on a silver platter. Right now he needed somewhere to hide, right now his goal was to regather his thoughts and figure out another way to reach Ernesto.

“We … disagreed on something” he settled on revealing half the truth, it wasn’t really a lie that way.

“The life of a musician eh?” He nudged Miguel with an apologetic smile.

Being addressed as a musician made something in his heart flutter and that sudden bout of rebellious defiance against his family kicked back into gear. He nodded in agreement.

“What’s your name?”

“…Miguel”

“And where have you come from, Miguel?”

“Santa Cecelia”

Miguel wasn’t entirely sure why such personal information seemed to be rolling off his tongue now. Perhaps it was because he was being treated like a close friend, or maybe it was because he felt like he owed the man something; he’d helped Miguel with a quick getaway, he’d been kind and charming, why not answer his question? It was the least he could do!

Miguel briefly pondered on whether he was just trying to reason away the feeling of unease, but as the stranger offered another friendly smile he decided he was just being over cautious.

“Well Miguel from Santa Cecelia, the names Juan! Would you like to come walk with me? I can introduce you to some el musico amigos of mine eh!”

With another uncertain glance behind him Miguel swallowed his hesitation and allowed the other to lead the way.

———

How long had they been walking? Miguel had been so distracted answering the stranger’s questions he’d lost track of time.

Their conversations had been brief and simple. Juan politely asked about his home life, how long he’d been in the land of the dead, how he was finding adjusting to his skeletal form. Most of these questions forced Miguel to come up with convincing lies on the spot but Juan seemed to be buying it.

“Santa Cecelia is nice no?”

“Uh yeah.. its.. yeah.” Miguel replied, suddenly struggling to find his words.

They’d now ventured deeper into an alleyway. In order to hear the plaza Miguel had to strain his ears and he was finding it increasingly difficult to make out the skeletal figures shrouded in darkness ahead of them.

“Um… how much farther?” Miguel asked quietly as they continued their trek.

“It’s not far!” he replied with a bright smile.

Miguel didn’t feel like Juan’s response had been an actual answer to his question and now that he was certain he’d lost track of their descent his concern was becoming more realistic. There was a consistent tugging in his gut yearning him to turn, some alarm bell ringing in his head but the friendliness the stranger offered gave him no good reason to flee. It’s not as if Juan had said anything rude or disheartening, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Everything looked the same, like a maze of buildings that seemed to drag them both in circles! But while Miguel was growing anxious Juan seemed to know the place like the back of his hand. He realised then just how dependent he was on this stranger to help him find his way back, the freedom he’d felt after leaving Héctor and his family had come back to bite him. Now he was alone, alone with someone his gut was warning him not to trust.

“It’s just … Héctor is probably wondering where I am” Miguel explained, peeking up past his hood.

The skeleton released a broken laugh, it seemed relaxed and carefree —again, Miguel didn’t feel as if he’d been heard.

“I thought this Héctor was a bad amigo?!” He reminded and watched as the kids face blanched.

“Oh, y-yeah” Miguel smiled bitterly to himself as his excuse was kicked out from under him.

“If you really want, I can take you back to him soon”

 _How soon was soon?_ Miguel was growing more impatient by the second.

“So, aside from your friend Héctor, have you got any familia?” Juan humoured with a curious lilt to his skull.

Miguel had heard this question before and he shook his head immediately. Juan looked surprised by this response and raised his brow line.

“Really chica? None at _all?_ ”

“Uh-uhm, I was adopted!” He lied, and if the rush in his voice hadn’t been a dead giveaway, for some reason at this point in time his face decided to crack one of the most unconvincing crooked smiles.

Juan watched him carefully and Miguel expected him to demand the truth at any given second, except he never did. Instead, Juan chuckled and shrugged, as if Miguel lying about having no family was the least of his concerns.

Tension that Miguel didn’t realise he’d been holding released as he breathed a sigh.

The pavement had grown dense and muggy now, so much so that the soles of Miguel’s shoes were pattering against puddles. His clothes clung to him as if they’d been submerged in honey and he swallowed back the urge to open his hood as heat pooled up his neck. But he had to resist—lest he show too much flesh.

Miguel wondered what they’d think if they found out he was human, would they accept it like Héctor did? Would they aid him too? Or maybe they’d hand him in immediately.

He was pulled from his feverish thoughts as the alleyway opened out to rows of bedraggled shops, once all with the dream of attracting customers but now long forgotten and outdated. Miguel arched his neck to see inside the stained windows and made out souvenirs and what he guessed were unwanted blessings, now with the goal of rotting away and collecting dust. He crinkled his nose and pulled back when he detected the unmistakable smell of moulding bread.

Candles had been placed along their trail, illuminating what was hidden from the festive lights above the underground hideout. Some that’d long been snuffed out managed to trip Miguel’s stride, they were almost invisible in the shadows and he quickly gathered himself. A snicker of amusement caught his attention however and he whipped his head up to see another nameless skeleton face perched back against a wall, he must’ve seen him stumble and Miguel smiled sheepishly. He might’ve been more comfortable had the smile been returned, but as he passed by he only leered at Miguel —intrigued by every square inch of his body, the kid suddenly felt very self-conscious.

Miguel knew he looked out of place, they were clearly members of the forgotten and their attire complimented something far before his time — but he was beginning to feel like a bug under a microscope!

On a brief glance one might have compared this place to Shantytown, but something was different. Sure Shantytown had been poor, broken down and desperate but the place had had its charm. Miguel was welcomed with wide bony arms and no one seemed to question his appearance –nothing but laughter and festive gritos had been thrown his way. He wished he were back there. This place wasn’t Shantytown, it was cold and desolate. The skeletons around him weren’t welcoming him as family, they were eyeing him carefully as if he were their one-way ticket to Ernesto De La Cruz himself. In a way it was true.

Miguel gnawed at his bottom lip in distress, this had been a mistake. Sure he’d been mad before but that was over now. He’d just wanted to find De la Cruz and now he couldn’t even see his mansion!

“Where are you taking me?” Miguel willed himself to sound more confident.

The skeleton peered down at him with that same wide, relaxed smile. Miguel wondered if it’d ever left his face.

“To some friends of mine remember? You wanted help no?”

“Well .. I guess, but…”

 _But I’m scared. I don’t want to be here. I don’t trust you._ Is what Miguel’s mind was crying, but the words fell dead on his tongue as his need to be passive and polite returned.

Why couldn’t he speak up, since when did he care about hurting this stranger’s feelings?

Soon, Miguel was directed to a worn shack isolated to the side of the area. It wasn’t adorned with candles, decorations or souvenirs, it was amiss of anything domestic. In-fact it held no character whatsoever—had Juan not pointed it out Miguel would’ve missed it entirely. He remembered Chicharron’s shack, it hadn’t been pretty, but it’d held a story, _his story_. Miguel bit back his remorse for the cranky older man, now wasn’t the time.

Juan led them to the front porch and began wrenching at the door. Miguel’s eyes widened as he witnessed how much effort it took to open. The hinges squealed angrily, and the bottom of the door was grinding against the porch which he suspected was what was causing so much resistance. Finally, it was open enough for them both to fit through.

However, Miguel found he couldn’t move when Juan motioned with his arm for him to go first – but when he reached out to insist he was forced to take those first steps inside. Miguel might’ve not cared as much had he been persuaded in via his shoulder, but Juan had been very comfortable with keeping his hand against the boy’s lower back the entire way through.

———

“Look what I found!” Juan announced to seemingly no one.

There was a single light illuminating the otherwise dark room, boxes of unintelligible objects were hidden beneath a tattered curtain that’d been torn from the window it’d occupied. Three pieces of furniture rested in the middle of the area, two couches and a chair—all of which looked like they’d spent most of their existence in this shack. The floorboards beneath his feet were splintered and uneven, every shift of his weight resonated a loud and uninvited creak.

“ _Is it a ticket out of this dump?_ ” came a gruff reply.

Miguel focused his gaze toward two individuals reclining against one of the couches, he’d almost missed them thanks to the still, hazy atmosphere. Once their eyes met however the mood seemed to change and suddenly they were smiling, grinning in-fact! They beckoned him over and as he sauntered toward them he could hear Juan straining to shut the door behind him.

“Hola” Miguel greeted nervously.

As he approached one of the two briskly shuffled to make room for him on the couch before brushing his bony fingers over the cover; Miguel suppressed the urge to sneeze as dust clouded his face.

“Please, next to me pollito!” he insisted, Miguel felt the urge to oblige as he took the seat.

“This is Miguel from Santa Cecelia!” Juan introduced as he too sat himself down against the armchair. “Fresh meat from the other side!”

Miguel felt his heart skip at the words _‘fresh meat’_ but reminded himself it was just an expression.

“He’s young” the skeleton next to him added.

“Si, he is. How old did you say you were amigo?” Juan turned to stare expectantly at Miguel.

“I- … I didn’t say” he replied.

Miguel fisted at his pant legs as they eyed him, their gaze mirrored the strangers he’d seen earlier in the alleyway. _What was so fascinating about him anyway?_

Seconds passed and as the silence drawled on Miguel realized they must’ve been waiting for him to say something, but instead of answering their question he asked his own. “Juan said you could help me out! Is … is that true?”

“ _Si! That it is_ ”

“He told me you play as well!” Miguel continued.

There was a shift in the atmosphere and suddenly they were leaning closer.

“Si… we _love_ to play”

“You do? What instrument?!” a sparkle of hope fluttered in Miguel’s chest.

However, as the skeleton stiffened in response and glanced between the other men present it became obvious that Miguel’s question had caught him off guard.

“Perdón?” he asked.

“Instrument?” Miguel mimicked the motion of strumming a guitar. “What do you play with?”

Before they could react Juan latched onto Miguel’s shoulder with a vicelike grip and directed the attention onto him. “Miguel here is a musician! I told him you’re both the same!”

Something about how insistent Juan’s tone was suggested this was the first they’d heard of being musicians.

“ _Ay! That! Si!_ ” they waved off the mistake as if it’d been a misunderstanding.

“Pay them no attention niño, I don’t remember a day when these two weren’t drunk off their face”

While Juan’s words sounded sincere Miguel knew better, this was far from the truth. These two men, they weren’t musicians, they weren’t here to help him. Miguel was frustrated that it took him so long to realise that he was being deceived. During his outburst Juan’s offer to help had seemed perfect, and it had been – too good to be true that is.

“So, you have many fans? You probably do, some people will do anything for a cute kid.”

Miguel’s mental panic was interrupted.

_What?_

“Not really, I mean- I had a big audience tonight but…” Miguel was struggling to find his words.

_How was he supposed to respond to that?_

“He’s so humble”

“No really I’m just-! I’m just… I’m new I don’t—”

More stuttering.

Miguel felt like they were leading him onto something he couldn’t put his finger on, but the tension in his gut was only increasing.

“You have any family here, niño?”

“N-… nope” he murmured back. Miguel realised now just how isolating that sounded. “There’s Héctor … but-”

“Just an amigo.” Juan finished.

Miguel felt his hands ball into fists at the memory of Héctor calling his dream stupid, of him trying to drag him back to the people who’d wanted to strip him of his love for music, how he’d been willing to give up all their hard work to get there. The boy’s brows knitted as he frowned.

He missed the look that was shared between the three amigos on noticing Miguel’s frustration, it was something distant and unreadable, something only they understood.

“You look like you need a drink, kid” one of the two extended a bottle toward him but he shook his head in earnest.

“No gracias. I’m too young” Miguel had never been offered alcohol before in his life, he’d ogled at it whenever his family decided to celebrate but given the chance he chose to ignore it. From what he’d seen alcohol only brought out the dumb side of people and that was the last thing he needed right now.

“Well, you’re going to be that age until your final death” the bottle was thrust into Miguel’s hands despite his rejection and he held it with uncertainty. “May as well indulge yourself a bit yeah? Don’t worry about getting in trouble, there’s a lot of rules that don’t apply down here in the slums.”

Miguel was unconvinced as he eyed the liquid suspiciously. He held it up to his nose and took a whiff only to immediately recoil at its pungent odour.

“Go ahead kid! We won’t tell” they insisted. “Just a taste, you might like it!”

Miguel recalled a memory of his mama and papa warning him about the dangers of group peer pressure and at the time he’d rolled his eyes. _As if I’d ever let people bully me into stuff!_ He’d thought. But now Miguel realized just how difficult it was to say no, especially with three adults persisting.

Just a sip – he reassured himself as he lifted the drink to his lips.

Miguel tilted his head back and as the contents of the bottle traveled down his throat he was quick to realize the consequences of that decision. The liquid burned! It was actually burning! It wasn’t satisfying at all and Miguel discarded the bottle instantly – now he was fighting the urge to choke, swallowing what’d returned from his stomach. Tears were threatening to surface as his mouth worked to get rid of the repulsive taste – he couldn’t help but grip his throat in shock. _Ow, boy oh boy did he regret doing that! Why did it look so delicious and refreshing when adults drank it?_

“I-It … hurt!” he hacked. Laughter bubbled around the three strangers as Miguel struggled to hold the contents in his gut.

“Sorry kid, that drink there is special. Imagine our surprise when we realised skeletons couldn’t get drunk.”

“All bone, no brain, no buzz.” Juan was staring into the distance, no doubt reliving that dark memory.

“So obviously, we made it stronger—so we can feel it. Still not as special as that liquor the remembered are given but this stuff works all the same. Reminds us of when we were alive, when we weren’t—” they gestured at themselves with disgust. “—a sorry sack of bones.”

Miguel interrupted them as he leaned over and let out another vicious hack. Perhaps if he had been a skeleton it wouldn’t have affected him as much – but he was technically still alive, and so his body was very hyperaware of the harmful substance he’d just swallowed.

“Why h—haven’t you gotten any from the remembered?” Miguel asked with a hoarse voice.

“I don’t know if you realised chica but we’re not exactly in top shape-”

“We’re forgotten, and the forgotten don’t have the luxury of drinking pure liquor. Not like that Señor De la Cruz, he wouldn’t be caught dead sharing anything with hombres like us.” They took a swig of Miguel’s rejected beverage and their brow-line furrowed. “Lest it harm his precious reputation.”

“If I had a moment with that hijo de puta—” the skeleton emphasized what might’ve been the end of that sentence with a shake of his fists and Miguel held his breath. Perhaps revealing that he was Ernesto’s great, great grandson wasn’t the best idea. He willed himself to keep that secret as they shared disgusted looks at the mere mention of his name.

Distracted – and still feeling ill from the brief consumption of skeleton alcohol – Miguel didn’t notice the fingers reaching toward him until they were carding gently through his fringe. He jolted to the side of the couch with wide eyes and snapped his head to the man responsible; hoping for an explanation.

“Siento chica, your hair – it looks so soft and clean” yet another uninvited caress.

“I-I… please don’t.” Miguel requested weakly, he curled deeper into his red hoodie.

“Hey, relax muchacho, we’re all family here! He’s just admiring you” Juan seemed a whole lot closer than he had before, or maybe that was Miguel’s imagination after moving to avoid the others persistent touching.

“It’s true-” suddenly the hand was back and squeezing his thigh. “-You’re very beautiful Miguel.”

Now he was panicking, instantly shuffling his legs to close the gap between his thighs and hoping he’d get the message, but only an adoring smile graced the strangers face. Miguel was scared.

“But I-I’m a boy!” he exclaimed.

“ _What’s wrong with finding another man beautiful?_ ”

“No, no! I didn’t mean that- nothing’s wrong with that I just, sorry I…” Miguel felt as if he’d been accused of something and he was quick to apologise. He was uncertain of what though, what was he sorry for?

His head was buzzing now, a dull ache throbbing right in the middle of his skull and it was becoming a battle to keep his focus. Miguel knew he wanted to leave – he wanted to get out, find De la Cruz and end this night. To do that he was going to have to be brave, come up with an excuse or make a run for it. But he needed a plan first.

“Kid—” the hand that hadn’t left his thigh gave a light squeeze and suddenly he was holding his breath. “— have you ever been touched by another man?”

No.

No, he hadn’t. Miguel had only recently discovered what attraction even was and his feelings never stemmed higher than a small insignificant crush – _which had always been on girls!_ Miguel felt numb with shock as he gave them a small shake of his head.

The fingers over his thigh roamed higher until it was stroking gently at his hip. “We can change that-”

In this moment Miguel couldn’t have cared less whether he had a plan or not, he was just grateful he’d found the motivation to move!

“Lo siento!” he practically shouted as he lurched off the couch and away from the grossly endearing hand. “I really need to go! I lost track of time and—and Hector will be really worried a-and…”

Although a larger and more reasonable side of his brain told him this was a bad idea, Miguel couldn’t help but thrive at the confidence that was now guiding his words. Miguel felt like he had the upper hand as the group watched him with surprise. Burrowing his hands in his pockets he straightened his spine and turned on his heel for the door.

“There’s been a rumour going around tonight …”

Miguel’s pace came to a slow stand still as the other’s monotonous voice bounced of the restricting walls encircling them.

“Someone told me that they’d seen a living boy in the land of the dead. I scoffed, _dios mio_ I said, that’s impossible!” Miguel’s heart rate was picking up as he listened, an overwhelming feeling of dread settling in. “— but as more people claimed they’d seen him I started to consider, maybe they were right – maybe the rumours were true. I asked them what he looked like and they told me he was beautiful, that he had the biggest smile”

Twisting back Miguel looked at the man incredulously.

“I knew then that I had to find him. I wanted to touch him, so I could remember what it was like back when …” he trailed off. “Word spread that he’d befriended a street rat like myself and I … I thought that if anyone deserved a chance to feel alive again— to touch this boy— it was me. Not him. Don’t you agree?”

Miguel’s eyes widened. “W-What do you-?”

“I listened around, I learned that he was from Santa Cecelia” at some point he’d stood and Miguel noted how he was moving closer. “That he wore a red hood, that he was being trailed by a malnourished stray.”

Miguel tried to reply but realised that he couldn’t find the words. His feet were glued to the spot. _If they’d known this whole time why hadn’t they said anything?_ Miguel thought he’d managed to fool them but he’d been deceived, and for what? To _touch_ him? Miguel didn’t understand – he didn’t want to. The others had started rising from their positions too, eyes locked on where he stood. 

“Turns out he was an aspiring musician, that he intended to play music like his hero De la Cruz and that the man responsible for guiding him went by the name of Hector.” Miguel involuntarily shook his head, as if there was any point in denying the truth. They knew everything. “Sound about right, Miguel Rivera?”

Now it was his turn to reply, but what was he supposed to say? _You got me!_ Miguel shook his head – dismissing the stupid idea. His brain was working hard to find a way out of this, somewhere to run, something to throw, but the adrenaline was crippling his ability to do anything but stand and tremble anxiously. _Like a baby_ he thought.

Miguel cleared his throat and with a shaky voice whispered. “H-… Hector is waiting for me… I need to leave”

The man was now an arm’s length away and he knelt to the floor in-front of Miguel. “Well muchacho, he really should’ve kept a better eye on you”

It was like in one of Ernesto’s famous movies, the villain lunged at Miguel with an iron grip and he instantly dodged. Had he been any slower he wouldn’t have managed the quick escape.

He bolted for the door, hoping, _praying_ that he would make it. He had to try! A thought popped into his head and before he had the chance to dwell on every way it could go wrong his body was already in action.

Miguel’s leg shifted and he struck a kick at one of the boxes in reach. The lack of space in the shack required them to stack their belongings on top of each other, which meant there were towers of boxes waiting to be demolished. As expected on impact the piles trembled and before the three amigos knew it they were being battered. It hadn’t worked as well as Miguel had hoped, not like in cartoons anyway. It’d released years of dust collecting though!

Miguel threw his body against the door in panic as he heard their growls of outrage. Too late did he remember the force required to open it, the hinges hissed and churned as he pulled desperately. The door squeaked weakly against the wood and inched closer with each violent pull.

“Come on!! _Come on!_ ” Miguel pleaded.

Losing patience he shoved his leg through, sucking and squeezing the rest of his body past the suffocating space. Luck didn’t seem to be on Miguel’s side however because not a moment later he felt a sharp jerk from the back of his red hood and suddenly cold sharp hands were dragging him back into their arms.

“Let go of me! _Stop!_ ” Miguel screamed. He kicked and punched —though this did little to hinder their grip.

Distracted by his own racing thoughts Miguel hadn’t seen Juan and his amigo sneaking around the sides of the shack and cornering him. All three had leapt at him and were fighting to restrain his wrists and ankles.

“Don’t panic Miguel-” Juan gritted out as he continued to struggle. “It won’t hurt”

“What are you doing?! Por favor! Stop it!” Miguel begged.

Hands were being forced on him and he cringed at the feeling. It was Juan who was behind him now –he was restraining Miguel’s arms as his fists tried to land hits against his attackers. Miguel’s legs were spread and one of the two wedged themselves between his thighs.

“I just want to go home!” Miguel pleaded as his sweater was removed and cast onto the floor. The men leered at him as he arched his back; one final attempt to be rid of them. So pitiful.

With squinted eyes Miguel watched helplessly as they examined him, running skeletal palms up and under his shirt. He failed to hold back a whine of pain when they twisted his nipples sharply, muttering unintelligible things under their breath as he winced –something about his skin being warm.

“Good boy” Juan was next to his ear, content with keeping his arms trapped. “Is this your first time?”

“Stop it” Miguel twisted in his grip. No matter where he moved to avoid the groping there was another hand that joined. There wasn’t an inch of skin that Miguel could protect.

“Did Héctor touch you like this?”

Scared and disoriented Miguel could do nothing but shake his head and plead once more for the nightmare to stop. Next thing he knew they’d pushed his shirt around the base of his neck, this meant they were able to see every heave and stutter of his chest.

“Gracias Miguel, you don’t know how much this means to us.” Juan started pressing his mouth into the crook of the boy’s neck and he grated his teeth over his collarbone. “Bonito” 

They were grabbing at whatever they could find, so when one of their hands ventured below Miguel’s waistband he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was.

“H—ah! Please just…” he was so exhausted, so disgusted with himself.

“Do you like it?” they were observing his reaction as their hand started rubbing obscene circles between his legs.

“ _Don’t be shy_ ”

To make matters worse Miguel’s body was starting to respond to the action and he released a sound of distress. He didn’t know what was going on, he’d never felt this way, what were they doing to him? Cold fingers were wrapped around what rested between his thighs, and he fought back a cry when they started jerking their wrist.

“I think you’re starting to like this kid—”

“Miguel?”

Said boy, along with the hands over his skin, froze.

“Chamaco?! Oi, are you out here?”

It was Héctor, unmistakably Héctor. Not only that but Miguel could hear the confident whining of Dante, he must’ve tracked his smell!

Foreseeing what Miguel was about to do next a bony arm fell over his mouth and tried to suppress the scream that ripped from his throat. It only succeeded in muffling him slightly, but Miguel didn’t stop, not for a second.

“Miguel? Miguel!” Héctor’s voice grew clearer as he pursued the strangled cries for help. “Kid, where are you?!”

It was Dante who led Héctor to the shack, his ears flat against his head and lips pulled back in a snarl. The dog scratched impatiently at the door keeping them separated and looked to the young skeleton.

The fingers holding Miguel dug bruisingly into the muscle on his arms and his world went blurry as tears welled behind his eyes. Not only were their ministrations violent but their bodies were unkept, so the marrow of their bones threatened to cut.

Hot shame prickled up Miguel’s spine at the thought of what he must look like, even when he was seconds from being rescued from something he couldn’t comprehend; the idea of Héctor seeing him snivelling like a baby wasn’t washing with him smoothly. Miguel felt weak, he thought he could handle it — no — he’d convinced himself he could.

He wondered what Héctor was going to say when he saw him, ‘ _I knew this would happen…_ ’ ‘ _this is why you need your family_ ’ ‘ _You’re not a musician, you’re just a kid_ ’. Miguel felt defeat bite at his heart but as a cold skeleton hand found purchase in grabbing his throat he couldn’t stifle another alarmed scream.

The door came down.

Héctor hurried inside and frantically scanned the dusty, dark room. When he spotted the three men and Miguel his whole body stilled, his beloved hat slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud. Miguel could see him connecting the dots in his head, his eyes glancing from the abandoned red sweater to the hands frozen against his skin— and finally, to the attacker groping him intimately below his waistband. Reality hit Héctor hard and his ribs began contracting at a dangerous rate –he looked like he was about to metaphorically lose his stomach.

“No… no, no, no—” Disbelief and disgust were the two expressions battling for the upper hand on his face. For a good few seconds Héctor looked to be stuck. However, his eyes met Miguel’s and as the boy looked away—embarrassed and afraid, that was all it took for Héctor to throw himself at the three strangers.

There was yelling, slurs, throwing of objects both used as a defence and offence. Dante was at Héctor’s side the entire time, yowling and snarling whenever one tried to make a break for it and they were soon screaming as the xolo dog gnawed at their legs. Miguel managed to find the courage to peer out from under his shaking hands and he did so just in time to see Héctor landing a flat punch across Juan’s face. He hadn’t thought of Héctor as being strong but as Juan’s jaw detached and skimmed across the rickety shack floor he was in awe.

The three amigos abandoned the limbs they’d lost in the fight and in turn fled for the door which Dante was quick to follow. Screams of fear reverberated from outside as they were chased back into the shadows.

Héctor was yelling after them, he sounded furious and Miguel was alarmed at the usually chirpy man’s drastic change of attitude. Though, that subsided when he turned back to look at Miguel. Instantly the anger slipped away, replaced with fear.

On the cold floor sat Miguel, arms pulled to his chest as he processed what’d just transpired. Héctor was next to him before he’d realised the man was even moving, and his hands were hovering close as he silently pleaded for the other to respond.

“Ch—chamaco… I…” Héctor’s face was twisted in pain. He seemed to want to say something, anything, but every-time he opened his mouth it shut again.

Miguel wanted to be strong, he did, but the pressure building in his heart was getting to be too much. His body was shaking, it wouldn’t stop even when he held himself! It was the memory of their fingers reaching and grabbing that kept his mind racing. All these emotions were swelling and working their way up his throat. It must’ve shown because Héctor was kneeling closer now. Miguel tried to suppress it, he wasn’t a baby anymore, _so he tried_ —but it was no more than a second before the hot tears finally spilt and he released a broken wail.

Someone shifted, Miguel had an inkling that it was Héctor who’d moved first, but suddenly he was being cradled against a hard chest. Two thin arms wrapped around his trembling frame and began rocking him back and forth.

For a long while it was the sound of sobbing that filled the haunting silence of the deserted shack. Miguel was more relieved than anything, relieved that it was over, relieved that he wasn’t alone.

He curled into himself and there was movement before he felt the warm, soft fabric of his hoodie being blanketed over his shoulders. It was done so considerately —the skeleton hands that aided him were avoiding any chance of harming him further, brushing over the bruises littering his arms, stroking the bite marks on his collarbone. And the voice that belonged with these hands lulling him into safety wasn’t perverse, but gentle and comforting.

“I-.. I told them to stop but th—they _wouldn’t_ and—” Miguel was hiccuping as fat tears continued to flood down his cheeks. “—they knew about me, they knew about you, they knew a—about _Dante_ ”

Héctor had cocooned his body around the young boy, praying that it provided the comfort he needed. Miguel was traumatized, and all he could do for him now was remind him that it was over, he was safe, he wasn’t leaving and that he would listen.

“Wh—what if they know about my family! What if my family find out, they’ll never let me do anything ever again!”

It wasn’t a secret that Héctor and Dante had mauled the three assaulters, but he knew that didn’t change anything. He could only imagine what Miguel would be feeling right now.

The makeup he’d used to help disguise the boy had long been ruined, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care as he ran his fingers through Miguel’s hair.

“Kid, I-I…”

Miguel grimaced against Héctor’s purple vest. Here it was, the words he didn’t want to hear. The ‘ _I told you so’s_ ’ and the ‘ _Your family was right_ ’. Having to hear this now was sickening, but he supposed it was only a cherry on top of everything that’d already happened. Miguel didn’t think he had the strength to argue. Here he was being coddled, a dumb kid who didn’t know any better—

“I’m so sorry”

… _Que?_

“I’m so, so sorry chamaco I-I … I shouldn’t have left you, I should’ve been there …” Héctor’s hands were holding him a little tighter now as he rambled. “I didn’t mean what I said! I was angry but your dream —it’s not stupid! But I let you go and —and this happened and I am the one to blame and—”

“No!” Miguel’s voice crackled, but overall he was impressed by how strong he sounded. “This … none of it is your fault! I am the one who ran away-”

“Kid, you had every right to run, I wasn’t listening to you—”

“But I wasn’t listening to you either!”

Hector’s eyes scoured Miguel’s and he felt a twist of pain at seeing the dried tear streaks painting his face. He chose not to respond, instead settled with pulling the boy back under his chin and humming soothingly.

“But this shouldn’t have happened…” he concluded and gave Miguel’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I promise chamaco, I won’t let you out of my sight ever again”

Miguel chirped croakily, amused by the sincerity in the skeletons voice. “Gracias, Héctor”

As the boy drifted into a feverish sleep, exhausted from the nightmare he’d just escaped, Héctor held him close and worried at his bottom lip. Quietly, he allowed himself the chance to break down.

This was all his fault.


End file.
